


Burnout

by Sapphylicious



Category: Code Geass
Genre: Gen, POV First Person, pre-R2 speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 12:37:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1146071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphylicious/pseuds/Sapphylicious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I watched him bleed for a while, trying to puzzle out this boy and who he was to Lelouch, who he was to me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burnout

He will heal fast, I'm sure. I do not think it is due to the Geass, it's his own body and perhaps his own stubbornness that will help things along. Not that he is in much danger of dying to begin with, thanks to Lelouch's miserable aim. But if we're going to harp on that, his wasn't much better. Who fired the first shot...? No, it hardly matters.

I thought the two of them deserved each other when I came upon them both bleeding (how utterly symbolic), though thankfully no one was blown up, and that girl was working herself into a complete panic attempting to help. Lelouch was out cold already, but the other was still struggling on, not even noticing me there. If I'd stood directly in front of him, he would have looked through me.

I watched him bleed for a while, trying to puzzle out this boy and who he was to Lelouch, who he was to me. He fit somewhere in this grand design and it was bothersome to have another piece to place. The girl started screaming at me, so I told her to mind Lelouch since he was her precious Zero, wasn't he? She went furiously silent, but she obeyed. I half-expected her to ask questions or even cry, and I suppose I was relieved when she didn't. Less trouble that way. I left her to tend to Lelouch, and I took care of the other, helping him into unconsciousness first with pressure to a vital point.

Going through the motions of cleaning and bandaging was simple, mindless, and it isn't until now that I wonder how Lelouch is faring. I'm not worried, and I've no interest in holding his hand while he fixes whatever needs fixing. It's all right to be separated for a while. And I am somewhat interested in this one, for now.

However, I've gotten tried of waiting.

"Wake up already."

I made some food for him. He needs it, like he needs air to breathe and water to drink. I try not to think of all the vicious salt water I swallowed and choked on down there before losing consciousness and waking shortly upon blessed land. Just like I try not to think of the last time I ever cooked, even in this crude camping manner. It's a shame I don't have my own phone, but I suppose Pizza Hut does not deliver this far.

"Hey. Wake up."

I don't have all day. I moved him elsewhere so we wouldn't be easily found, but I don't plan on hiding for long. Plus, I dislike this island. And I hate sand. There was another time, another place, a beach of dead bodies piled high and blood-frothed waves bringing in boat after boat... Things I haven't bothered to recall for a long time.

I am thinking about kicking him to jolt him into awareness when he finally comes into it on his own. His eyes snap open and he jerks around as if he just came out of a violent dream. He can't do much though, I've tied him. It's not the most humane thing to do to a wounded boy, but I care little about good bedside manner. When his gaze settles on me there's darkening recognition.

His first words, "You. You're with him, aren't you? Where is he?"

Of all the questions he could ask... Such a one-track mind, and such a fierce grudge. Perhaps I pity Lelouch, just a little. More importantly, I choose to answer the question. Our talk looks like it may be promising. "I don't know. Somewhere safe, I'd venture, and in a similar state as you." _So very symbolic_. Does he realize it too?

His shoulders slump and he doesn't say anything. Looking closer, I see that he's testing his bonds. 

"Please don't," I advise, reaching over to pick up the gun – his gun – that I brought with me. "Just because I treated one wound doesn't mean I'm averse to making another." It would be disappointing though. I really would like to talk more with this friend of Lelouch's.

He eyes the weapon, calculating. It shouldn't even be a question but I have heard of his inhuman feats, dodging sprays of bullets and such. And you can't say that he lacks courage. Sometimes people are stupidly brave though, and I hope he won't be one of them, bullheadedness aside. 

"What do you want?"

"To talk." I put the gun back down and stare at the couple of small fish I'd caught. Should I offer them to him? But he's tied up at the moment, and I am disinclined to feed him myself. It seems silly all of a sudden that I bothered. Even humans won't die unless they starve for days, not just a few hours. Is it just a thoughtless gesture of kindness, though I feel nothing towards this person except a mild curiosity? Is it because of Lelouch? 

...

Never mind the fish then. If he asks, I don't have to answer. That's been a good rule to live by so far.

He has closed his eyes, head resting against the tree he's bound to. Is the anger ebbing, at last, or building for one final blaze? For all that he's full of expression, he is inconveniently difficult to truly read. And he isn't talking.

"Are those your only questions?"

One eye slides open, and it annoys me that I am not worth his full concentration. Hmm, perhaps I _have_ been around Lelouch too long, to feel that arrogant. But still, it's rude. I don't often give anyone my undivided attention.

"What do you want me to ask?" He's sharp first, then weary. "Does it matter?"

"To me, it does not." I draw my legs up and loop my arms around them, chin on top of my knees. There's a fleeting sense of displacement and I know immediately why; the light, the smell, the wind, it's all wrong. I believe that I am _missing_ something, wishing to be somewhere else, wanting something I once had. I have grown used to Lelouch's room, his bed, the smell of pizza, and Cheese-kun hugged to my chest. It was not 'home', but it was good. Here I am in my pilot suit, sitting in the sand, ignoring my fish, and talking with this stubborn boy.

Well, at least the stubborn boy isn't too different. Or maybe he is. I'm not sure yet.

"I cannot be swayed by any of your words." There is one word, a name, and only Lelouch knows that. "And likely you cannot be swayed by mine. But how often do people listen to each other anyway?"

"Listening hasn't done any good," he murmurs, and I take it for agreement. "And when you force... It was you who gave him that power, wasn't it? The Geass."

He doesn't need me to confirm it, but I do. "Of course." There's something in his eyes, hard and glittering and wholly dangerous. But they close again like he's shielding himself, hiding his anger. That won't do. Is this the frustration Lelouch felt? And how did he feel back there, with that unguarded, unleashed gaze upon him? I think it was more than the gun that wounded him. But that is what happens when you provoke something wild.

"And he, Lelouch could— he's always wanted that. For Nunnally, I know. But, to think he'd actually..."

For some reason, it is Mao's teasing voice I hear echoing in my head. _'Wrong, wrong!'_ I will never be rid of it. I siphoned the words out of him when I held that gun to his neck. I have this boy to thank for that. If not for him, no doubt Lelouch's sister would have been killed, and Lelouch himself would have become useless to me. Should I thank him? ...No, better to leave Mao's ghost alone.

"You're wrong," I tell him, though I'm not sure why. It's certainly not what Lelouch wants. Then again, since when do I care about what that brat wants? "A shame. I didn't get the impression you misunderstood him so badly. He knows you so well, after all."

I have something here. There is a satisfying spark in the boy's gaze and his lip curls back – yes, a wild animal for sure. But I am safe, because I am already caged, beyond anyone's reach. Princess get rescued from towers, while witches get burned. Beasts should know not to mess with those flames, but he's already being consumed by them.

Not a beast though, I remember. He is _Zhū Què_ , south, summer, and fire.

"How am I wrong? Tell me, how am _I_ wrong, when he's the one who— _He shot her right in front of me._ "

He did, he shot down the little princess and all her pretty dreams, all _your_ pretty dreams. I won't tell him the obvious though, nor am I going to comfort him. I can, however, fan the flames and see what happens. 

"He wasn't supposed to. And if you think he wanted to, you are wasting my time. He cried. In front of me, he cried. Have you, his friend, ever seen that side of him? Perhaps to you, he is incapable of such deep regret." It is a bit more than I intended to say, but it's my revenge too. For that time Lelouch _claimed_ me in front of Mao. I can do the same. "But as you said: Does it matter?"

...So much anger. I am mildly concerned that his bindings won't be sufficient. But rage by itself is boring, of course he's angry at Lelouch, and angry at me for provoking him, I am far more interested in the spot of jealousy I detect in his resentment. "Who are you?" he asks, a question long overdue, and I wonder if he'd have asked it at all if I hadn't made myself into a target. Would it please Lelouch to know that he is now the center of this boy's world? 

"I am C.C." I twirl a lock of hair in my fingers, smiling a little and recalling a playwright from long ago who wrote of a "green-eyed monster", green for envy. "As for who I am to Lelouch, I will tell you: we are accomplices. So can you answer me, who are _you?_ "

"His friend," he says possessively, bitterly, with seven years' worth of viciousness and a princess's bloody ransom hanging at the very end. He's reached his end too, finally, with that claim. I find that I sympathize, for the trial of fire is harsh indeed.

"Best friend," I mull aloud, "Worst enemy. Like a brother, like a lover. Kururugi Suzaku, who are you?"

He won't have an answer for me, no matter how many times I ask. I don't want an answer anyway, but I am curious to see what he may come up with in time. He's rising from the ashes, nameless, newborn, but not innocent. All he has now is Lelouch ( _friend, enemy, brother, lover— **everything**_ ).

I unfold myself and stand up, letting sand fall away like a shedding of skin. There is still some dried blood on my suit, and of course on his too. Red on white. The sun will be sinking soon and the contrast will be less definitive in the dark, but I've had a good, long look, and that's all I need. Lelouch's rare impulses tend to give way to telling results, and only when this boy is concerned.

Do you see, I want to say, how he painted you in your true colors and made the pyre for you to burn? He is a cruel, honest man. But I'd rather have an honest man lead me to the stake than a false one who fancies himself a savior. I want to say these things, but a witch learns to wisely hold her tongue. After all, who believes the words of a witch?

"Thank you for your time," I say instead, with a polite, mocking bow. "Let us meet again, and you may introduce yourself to me properly." I loosen his ties, unconcerned with what he might do upon being freed. I doubt he'll stop me. Furthermore, I have nothing else to share.


End file.
